


The Definition of Hatred

by Alice (Red_Rosepetals)



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ambiguity, Ambiguous Relationships, Angst, Bitterness, Bittersweet Ending, Blood and Injury, Dark, Dreams, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Hurt, Feels, Flashbacks, Heavy Angst, Insecurity, Kasuka and Celty are only mentioned, Living Together, M/M, Major Character Injury, Memories, Mental Instability, Oneshot, Open to Interpretation, Panic, Possible implied torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rage, Rain, Reflection, Regret, Sad, Shizuo has better control over his rage, Smoking, Stress, The M rating is just to be safe, Trauma Recovery, Triggers, again its open to interpretation, apostrophe, dealing with death, depends on how you read it, no happy ending, possible rape/noncon elements, remembering, this is not meant to be happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 19:11:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12847656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red_Rosepetals/pseuds/Alice
Summary: ‘You’re the reason I can’t deal with goodbyes and farewells. You’re the reason I can’t stand people saying they’re leaving or that they have some place to be. Look at what you’ve done to me. Are you happy now? Is it better where you are? Do you miss me or even think of me?’Red eyes. If there was one thing that stood out about the flea aside from his annoying smirk, it was his blood red eyes. It was something unforgettable, truly, and it was what haunted Shizuo in both wakefulness and sleep; the image of those red eyes.***The lungfuls of nicotine don't help on this night just like every other for the past year. Every night he's haunted by the same dream, with the gleam of red eyes, the curve of a taunting smirk, the rise of cigarette smoke, the smell of rain-damp clothes, and then the tang of blood and the sight of a broken, pale body lying by the doorstep. Even when he's awake he can remember the events of that day with crystal clarity, and is haunted by the red eyes that seem to dance around him and cause the back of his neck to tingle as though he is being watched when there's no one there.(Please note/read tags)





	The Definition of Hatred

**Author's Note:**

> Well...I wrote a thing...
> 
> It was supposed to be a post-ketsu where Izaya wasn’t dead, just not in Ikebukuro and it was supposed to be haunting Shizuo, but then I got another idea to spin the initial into and this was the result.
> 
> On another note, I was scrolling through general prompts to see if I could apply them to a DRRR!! Fic or a Shizaya fic and saw ‘Red eyes.’ as a prompt, and now we’ve ended up here...
> 
> Hope you enjoy this oneshot despite being sad and dark and yeah?
> 
> XOXO,  
> Alice
> 
> (Don’t kill me haha)

If he were really to think about it, there was a lot of _could have beens_. He'd never really considered it before, when the uncontrollable rage took over and shook his body to the core. But one of the so-called _could have beens_ had actually been, back before the broken body and the pool of blood.

The lungfuls of nicotine don't help on this night just like every other for the past year. Every night he's haunted by the same dream, with the gleam of red eyes, the curve of a taunting smirk, the rise of cigarette smoke, the smell of rain-damp clothes, and then the tang of blood and the sight of a broken, pale body lying by the doorstep. Even when he's awake he can remember the events of that day with crystal clarity, and is haunted by the red eyes that seem to dance around him and cause the back of his neck to tingle as though he is being watched when there's no one there.

Because there's one truth he knows with absolute certainty; and it's that the flea, Orihara Izaya, the famous information broker himself, is dead.

***

He'd come home ever now and then with blood on his shoes or his shirt or his cheek. He'd come home smelling damp and dark and metallic. He'd come home with eyes dull and dark and lifeless. He never asked and Izaya never told. It was better that way.

"The less you're involved, the safer you'll be." He'd once said, eyes hollow and blank, that ruby red that normally burned brightly, and his tone had been flat, blunt, and very unlike him. So Shizuo never pried, never bothered. Maybe he should have, but he hadn't and at this point, it was too late to change it and too wrong to regret it.

Their relationship almost seemed like one of disinterest or of simple cohabitation. Sometimes they crossed lines but other times, they retreated within themselves and acted like the other didn't even exist.

There were days they acted like some domestic couple and other days they acted like they couldn't even stand the other. A persistent shade of gray they couldn't escape from. It was all-consuming and neither ever backed down. So things never changed. They remained in their state of ambiguity and maybe it was better that way.

They kept out of each other's way to avoid setting the other off on _those_ days because they knew what might happen if they pushed the other too hard, too far. In a way, it was a precarious and perhaps even life-threatening balance they maintained. A brief time of peace relying on an easily breakable peace treaty.

But things didn't change. Of course, that was only until _that_ day.

***

It might have already been raining when Izaya announced he had somewhere to be, but Shizuo hadn't noticed. But on that day, there were many things he didn't notice that he wished he would have. Anything to prevent what would inevitably happen, what _had_ happened.

By the time he even realized Izaya had left, the flea had already been gone for several hours _longer_ than normal. The rain had been steadily picking up before, but now it was slowly down to a steady tap against the windowpanes. _Irritation_ and _impatience_ were starting to seep into his blood, churning it into some long-forgotten rage he'd finally managed to contain and control. Everything felt like it was unwinding while some sort of a suspicion pulled at his heart and whispered into his mind. It was then that his mind registered how Izaya had quietly waited for him to say something after he announced he had somewhere to go, how Izaya's ruby eyes had seemed a little more desperate and human, how everything about Izaya's recent behavior screamed _wrong..._

It's not love nor was it ever, but it was something and Shizuo had never, not once, seen Izaya seem so _resigned_ , so _defeated_.

There's a noise outside just barely audible, practically imperceptible above the constant, soft thrum of rain, but Shizuo had been still for the past few minutes. Still and quiet just as the house was with not a single other person in it. Because it was just him. He doesn't know whether he imagined the sound or not, doesn't know what it was.

But all he has to do was open the front door. That's all it would take. A single twist and push of the door handle and he would know.

The rain's softening, easing up as if to encourage Shizuo, to tell him that everything's fine when it clearly wasn't.

He doesn't notice the time or the slickness of his hands when they slide across the door handle. The knob turned in his hand and with hardly any effort, the door pushed open, yielding a view of the damp grass, the slick asphalt just past the lawn, the dripping foliage still bending beneath the weight of the still falling drops of rain, the overcast, cloudy gray sky.

He almost wished he hadn't looked. Just a step away from the now open door, curled in a little ball of blood and rain, was a bruised, bleeding, broken Izaya. The man was stock still on the sidewalk, with bruises on his shoulder and on his cheek, with blood dripping down his forehead and over his half-lidded eyes, with his blood mixing with the shallows puddles of rain and staining them as red as his eyes, with his white dress shirt crumpled and ripped, with his chest still shallowly rising and falling, his lungs greedily gasping for air he just can't get because he's drowning in his own blood that's pooled out before him, diluted by the dying drip of rain.

There are no words to describe how Shizuo felt; shock, horror, rage, yes, he felt all of those, even sadness and terror. But not love. Not hate. But maybe still something.

He can barely form words when he calls Shinra, his breathing is irregular and every breath hurts. His voice is trembling and he can barely see through what he refuses to acknowledge are tears.

Izaya's still alive when Shinra gets there just minutes later, rushing to get there as soon as he can because Izaya is literally dying every second he wastes.

It's too late anyways. There's too much lost blood and the man had already lost consciousness, probably had already given up on living when he was so close to death, he probably could have reached out and touched it. It's not like he hadn't made an effort to live, he'd hailed a taxi to their house while trying whatever he could to staunch the bleeding with little luck, he'd stumbled out of the taxi, payed the driver and watched the car drive away as he collapsed from weakness and blood-loss, he'd crawled his way towards the front door when he couldn't walk, let alone even stand when his legs were so unsteady, but he hadn't made it far enough when the darkness of unconsciousness, of assured death had pressed into his vision and he could go no further, not in life, not in death.

Shizuo doesn't need to hear Shinra's announcement for confirmation of what he can see with his own eyes, a limp, pale, _lifeless_ Izaya, bruised, bleeding, _broken_ lying still with death on the makeshift operating table. He doesn't acknowledge Shinra's murmured apology, barely even hears it when his eyes are fixed on Izaya's face where there is supposed to be a smirk tugging at his still lips and a gleam in his closed red eyes. But there's not, nor will there ever be.

Shinra practically whispers that he's leaving, sensing that he should give some time and space to the silent blonde, but Shizuo stops him suddenly, with brown eyes wide and maybe even fearful and Shinra realizes slowly that something similar probably happened with Izaya and now Shizuo has linked whatever words Izaya said with his death.

So Shinra doesn't leave, nor does he say anything. He doesn't sleep in Izaya's room, but instead just on the couch, and when he leaves in the morning, he leaves early before Shizuo's awake and leaves a note, hoping that won't have the same effect.

The news of Izaya's death doesn't go public, likely hushed up by whomever drove the man towards his demise. The rumors about Shizuo increase, with each more vicious than the next no matter who tries to dispel the lies passed on from tongue to tongue, ear to ear, person to person. But none of it matters.

Shizuo's recovery is slow, with only three visitors ever coming to see him. Kasuka, Shinra, and Celty. No one else hears about it, so no one else knows.

But recovery is a very loose term, even after a year, the dreams never leave, the thoughts don't disappear, and Izaya doesn't come back.

***

_"You were right, Shizu-chan. You were right about me. I don't hate you, but nor do I love you."_

_No, I was wrong. So very wrong._

_"We're just something."_

_No, those were always your words, flea, not mine._

_"Oh, what a surprise to run into you here! I was just leaving!"_

_You were always such a liar._

_"Ne, Shizu-chan, let's buy a house together!"_

_For what reason? It was never necessary for the two of us to do so, after all it benefitted me more than it did you..._

_"Ne, Shizu-chan, if you ever dream about me, will you tell me?"_

_You always asked such strange questions randomly, they had always seemed to meaningless. But maybe they all had a purpose, a meaning, after all. But it's too late to ask._

_"Is it okay if I invite people over, Shizu-chan?"_

_This is also your house, it doesn't really matter to me...Who would you even invite?_

_"Ne, Shizu-chan, I was thinking we could maybe adds some benefits to our relationship. What do you think?"_

_Like what? Will it really change anything? Will it mean anything? Does it even matter to you?_

_"I've got somewhere to go!"_

_No, stay. Don't go, stay instead. Inside where it's warm and dry, away from the rain..._

***

Maybe things would have been different if he'd just said some of what he was thinking. But it's too late now.

Izaya's the reason he can't deal with goodbyes and farewells. He's the reason he can't stand people saying they're leaving or that they have some place to be. Look at what's become of him, of them both.

Is he happy now?

Is it better where he is?

Does he miss him?

Does he even think of him?

Did it ever mean anything?

There are no answers lying around to his questions, nor anyone to answer them. Only a fading picture ruined by too much abuse, the memories of red eyes and a devious smirk, the image of a broken body, of a coffin and a funeral with very few in attendance, and an untouched room gathering dust in a house put on the market to be sold.

The definition of hatred is not love. But maybe what Shizuo felt towards Izaya was neither, or maybe it really was love after all, some twisted broken semblance of affection. But it wasn't hate, and maybe it never was.


End file.
